A Tale of Romance, Tragedy and Dragons
by DreamersEclipse
Summary: "We're going to barrel into tragedy, break each other's hearts and we're going to be the stupid fools that we are and just keep going even when the world tells us not to." A retelling of the romance between Hawke and Anders. Because love isn't always at first sight and neither is it something to be possessed by one person. (m!hawke/Anders, yaoi)
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Roen Hawke faces many adventures and difficulties in Kirkwall from money problems to politics but the biggest one that he could possibly deal with is love. He didn't fall for Anders at first sight but once he did Anders didn't return his feelings. Love is complicated. Sometimes it takes time, work and the right moment you have to know when to seize.

Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all of its contents are all owned by Bioware….so does that mean they could technically own this story?

Warnings: coarse language, violence, bad writing: Beware

A/N: Excuse the long A/N note. Feel free to scroll to the story if you don't care too much about acknowledgements and story notes. This series was inspired by "The Dying Embers", a one shot that I wrote about Roen (my customized Hawke) and Anders sharing a moment together. IT's not necessary to read it; in fact I'm still debating whether the scene should be different when I get to it…which it probably might since I'm lazy and enjoy how it came out anyway.

Credit for this story goes to Tree1112 who convinced me to write this story (convincing me isn't so hard to do since all you have to do is tell me my story is awesome and that I should write more, which she did) and of course the review I got from my other dear reviewer was fuel to the fire. So thank you two. This is for you guys and all the other Anders lovers out there.

Also, each chapter uses the theme of a 'Poets of the Fall' song which I would recommend listening to because, seriously, this band was made for the m!Hawke/Anders Romance. They're just a perfect fit. Check out the gmv 'Carnival of Rust' on youtube. It's amazing! Rant done. Please enjoy. Feedback welcome.

*Story Start*

_*** "Thaw wails inside the walls and laughs in the corners, delighting in its evident victory. Till I feel springtime counting its days of flaunting a novel sensation." ~ You're Still Here by Poets of the Fall ***_

Roen downed the rest of his pint then exhaled with a satisfied laugh. Each drink sapped out a little of the sore exhaustion squeezing the muscles in his shoulder blades along with siphoning complicated thought from his conscious so that he may become a limber happy fool joining the band of smugglers also celebrating with drunken tomfoolery in the almshouse Lowtown tavern of The Hanged Man.

Disappointed with the taste of nothing pouring out of his mug, Roen got up from the luxurious and easeful sitting arrangements worthy of such a high class establishment. In fact, the seat was so comfortable it left a sore stiffness in his lower back. That was just how good it was. And it was also the reason why he chose to stand instead of hailing a bar maid.

He approached the bar and its owner, Corff who was always seen idling behind the counter. "Hey barkeep, another refill if you would." The man behind the counter took his mug and turned to the large barrels of ale sitting along the wall. As his drink was returned Roen pondered aloud, "What sort of a name is that anyway? The Hanged Man. Sounds so morbid. Is it a euphemism for something?"

A laugh sounded from the other man almost nostalgically. "It was my wife's idea actually though now that I think about it it could be a statement of something. She was always tricky that way."

"Your wife is certainly creative. Name like that makes a person hesitant but curious. Names are important you know. They help to define us…" Roen paused with a thoughtful look on his face. There was a point he was trying to make but it eluded him at the moment. He shook his head and asked instead, "I didn't know you had a wife."

There grew a somber look on the barkeep's features. His hand movements wiping the glass in his hands ceased as his gaze went downcast staring into something only he could see. A wry smile appeared on his lips. "I did, yae. She…ahem, she died of the Red Sickness years back when a pandemic was going on here in Lowtown and Darktown."

"My apologies and condolences ser. I did not mean to bring up such sorrowful topics."

"It's fine. Been years already and her sister, Nora has helped me a great deal in moving on." Though the words implied something there was nothing scandalous about Corff's voice or eyes that allowed Hawke to assume anything went on between the owner and his hostess. "Hard to stay upset around her. Beat the sadness right out of you n' I can't count how many times she did just that."

Roen returned the man's smile to show that he found it amusing and perhaps that he agreed with the method. His mind drifted to thoughts of Bethany. Sweet Bethany who was never afraid to take on her brothers, be a loving shoulder or a strict hand. He caught himself before the thoughts could float further and tried paddling back upstream to other things. He cleared his throat, bringing his mug in closer to his chest while at the same time forgetting he was holding it. "You said the sickness struck in Darktown and Lowtown. What of Hightown?"

The barkeep scowled professionally so that if someone were to point it out he could easily reply that he was indeed not scowling but had a simple pain in his stomach. "At the behest of the noble's, Viscount Dumar was convinced to quarantine Darktown and Lowtown. All passages leading into Hightown were sealed and guarded to prevent any of the sickness from spreading. But the sick were too weak to move anyway soon after they were felled by the disease. The only ones who tried clawing their way through the barricades were those desperate to escape the sickness an' there were plenty of them folk. Most couldn't afford passage out of Kirkwall. Those were desperate time. Imagine the irony. Just last year everyone was fleeing to Kirkwall instead of out of it."

"Do you mind if I ask your opinion, ser, of your city's leaders?"

"You want my opinion? I'm just the owner of a bar, serah. You don't want to hear what my opinions are."

"I would love to hear what you have to say if you would humor me."

Corff gave him a funny look then put the clean-by-now mug down on the counter and placed his hands on either side of the bar, leaning forward with his weight. "Alright then…well, Kirkwall is the city of chains, serah and there is a reason we call it that so long after the Tevinter Imperium ruled. There's people suffering in this city. The only ones who benefit from the way things are ran here are the noble's. But I'd best bit my tongue lest I say anything too incriminating. If you really want my opinion you can ask any man in the tavern. They will tell you it."

"Brother!" Roen turned around only to be hit with Carver's harsh glare. It tickled him more than stung though because Roen was the cause of the younger Hawke's ire. Carver was scowling at him, sulking in his chair like a dark cloud of grumpy weighed on him and pressed him down into the sodden wood.

They may have been celebrating but both mother and he shared the opinion that Carver was a little too young to enjoy the intricacies of alcohol. (Even at 18 which was hilarious considering other lads enjoyed their first hangover at 16.) That isn't to say he would abstain himself like a celibate chantry boy of course. The boy was allowed a pint and that was all. Certainly the more spiteful brother would become easier to stand when he himself would not be able to under heavy influence but alas that plan ended in massive headache from not only the hangover but also being strung up by mother Hawke in reprimand.

They may have left the coop but they didn't leave the cage.

Roen gave a nod and smile to the bartender thanking him for his time and returned with his drink to his dear loving brother who still looked like something had crawled up his butt and expired. He slapped him on the back using more strength than was comfortable to be received and let out a devilish chuckle. "I always feel so loved when you look at me like that brother. Am I doing such a good job of being an annoying older brother?"

Carver hissed in pain and slapped his hand away, "You're an annoying something."

"What was that? Couldn't come up with a good enough retort? Hmph we must seriously work on your skill in the art of insult and sarcasm." One more scowl invited him to sit down at the table once more.

Roen's eyes drifted from the scrunched irritation marring Carver's face and allowed them to mill around the room in lazy astute observation.

Athenril's nefarious band of smugglers were clumped together in the back corner of the tavern where they had pushed together tables to keep up their image of mysterious recluses; as if some dark order who could whisper secrets conspirationally and make a person burn with curiosity. Other patrons gave their best drunken efforts to stand clear of them. Sometimes the effort was painfully obvious the way they would turn the other way when one got up to take a piss or chase after one of the girls of the establishment.

A year may have constituted as an eligible lot of time to become an official member of Athenril's party but Roen would rather have taken it for the indentured servitude that it was than an initiation or rite of passage. So that is why the Hawke brothers were sitting at their own table, distanced away from their immediate crowd.

The hearth was closest to Roen's table. It's fire roaring in a controlled little rage. He felt the heat burning up his left side due to the way he was seated. When it got a little too stifling he turned the other way so the radiating warmth struck his right side instead. One half of his body was relieved to begin cooling while the other ate the new heat quite pleased by the warmth. Meanwhile as he drank another fire burned in his chest, keep his gut torrid.

The new position allowed for him to survey the other half of the room. He saw men at other tables playing card games with high stakes of coin hard earned but easy lost. At one table a burly dock worker slammed down his hand on the table causing everything on it to jump in fear as he wailed about one of the other burly dock workers cheating. Lost in fervor beyond reasoning the man stormed out quite huffily, shaking his arm roughly out of reasonable hands grabbing his arm and out of reasonable minds disapproving of his overzealous reaction.

Roen's eyes widened, mouth falling open as he saw a scantily dressed exotic woman saunter with a deadly grace towards the dockworker's table where the men pulled in the cache and began to reshuffle arched card.

He turned his head slightly so that he received a better audible reception. Even over the din of noise filtering such a lively place he was able to concentrate on the woman's voice.

"Evening boys." She said in a delectably sultry voice that would drive any man crazy. The volume of which she projected wasn't exactly loud but it had this boldness to it and confidence that made her be heard. "I noticed your friend has quite a hard head. Well I myself am very talented at handling hard things." Roen snorted the drink he just took out of his nose, going into a coughing fit and receiving a weird look from his brother.

"I have no doubt ye can, sweet heart." Replied a beefy man with a missing canine in his top set of teeth; this face revealed as he leered at her.

Another man who looked more annoyed by her presence than turned on growled while shuffling the new hand, "Ye can't play wit' us. Go away."

Undeterred the woman feigned hurt, placing a hand over her opulent breast. "But you haven't seen my hand yet." She pulled a bag of coin seemingly out of nowhere and dropped it on the table with a heavy clank that certainly gained the full attention of the men playing. They looked at it with more greed than they looked at her. A smirk came to her pretty face. "One game darlings is all I'm asking. Winner takes all." She leaned over the table, her breasts practically falling out of her shirt, "And I mean all." She purred.

The other two accepted with pathetic eagerness while the other turned up his chin in satisfied arrogance. Roen knew the outcome of the game the moment this woman presented herself. It was so obvious the way she used her body as a weapon to break another's chary walls; make herself seem vulnerable so that her prey in turns become vulnerable. Woman did not wear clothes like that simply because it looks good on them. It's all sexual appeal to tempt others away from rationality and protective paranoia while she stole what suited her needs from them. Whether it be their money, sex or pride. The game got under way and while Roen was intrigued by the woman he saw no further point in observing.

Also because he noticed his brother was prattling on about something to him.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Of course I am." Roen ruffled his messy mop of brown hair, "You were talking about that thing with the people…and what not." Carver gave him an indignant glare. The elder Hawke held his position, frozen for a couple of moments before shaking his head. "I was not listening, Brother."

A great annoyed sigh escaped the young warrior. "I was saying, Brother," came out the title in spite, "that we need a plan. Our year may be up but with it our income is gone. And I don't know about you but I have no desire to continue in this line of work the rest of my life. We need to think about what we're going to do for money. And not that I'm not enjoying the familial bonding going on at home, we need to get out of Gamlen's hovel. I can see how unhappy mother is there as well."

"Ah so you noticed that as well. She does seem quite depressed of late."

'Of late' was a loose term to be scoffed at. Roen leaned back in his chair and tried to bury the guilt that he felt towards himself –a thing piled on by him but then reinforced by his mother (as if taking a hammer to the anvil, shaping his feelings like malleable metal burning but conforming under her touch).

An entire year spent; Leandra may act like she is moving on but nothing has been the same since that day. The accusation is still in her eyes like a stain that won't wash away no matter how hard you scrub. Loss still wears away at her and living in Lowtown is an everyday reminder of all that she no longer possess

"What do you propose?" Questioned the rogue before taking a large drink of his pint to help swallow down the swell of emotions rising within him.

Carver reciprocated a strange look in response. "You're asking me what we should do?"

"You brought it up. Should I not assume you have some ideas in mind? As long as they don't involve selling our bodies or joining a self-righteous order I'm open to ideas."

A smile cracked open on Carver's face both in amusement and appreciation. "Uh alright then, Brother, I propose we join the city guard." He tilted his chin up confidently.

"I said no self-righteous orders. That, dear little brother is most certainly one of them. Besides don't you remember all those bad rumors going around about pay offs." He chuckled sarcastically, "for blighter's sake we even did business with some of those loose lipped, greasy palmed pea bodies."

"I know that." Frowned Carver. "That's why we should join. Work from the inside, make this city just a little more bearable."

"That is an admirable view Carver. An unpopular sentiment around these parts of course but we should have more vivacious youth following the same appeal."

"You're doing that thing again where you talk like you're older than you are."

"How about we keep the initial guild sign up at the bottom of our list? Aye brother? What else have you got?"

The young warrior sighed and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "My next suggestion was the Templars but we both know that that wouldn't work out well." He replied with a sharp jaded tone.

Roen leveled a sarcastic glare at him. "Indeed. It wouldn't." He took another drink of his al and silence ensued between them, tension like a cold fog that separated the both of them from one another.

"I can practically feel the love radiating off ye two in waves!" Exclaimed a man jovialy as he shoved Carver with rough affection, splashing some of the ale in his other hand on Roen's lap. Both Hawke boys groaned and grimaced at their uninvited visitor who made his way around the table to sit on the other side of them.

"Hamish, you're company is always a pleasure." Muttered the elder Hawke as he spread the alcohol on his trousers in an attempt to wipe it off; his hand becoming distinctly wet, smelling of a moonshine brew but otherwise doing nothing to be rid of the mess.

The younger Hawke scowled up at the thin faced, raven haired smuggler who had shoulder length hair designed with a single braid on his right side. "What do you want?" Hamish grinned toothily to reveal a set of clean but crooked teeth. Much like the man personality wise.

"I couldn't help but over hear your conversation-"

"From the other side of the room?" Questioned Roen in amusement, raising an eyebrow. Hamish chuckled evilly in response. It brought a wicked smile to Roen's face. It was an entertaining game that passed between them that always helped to sharpen each other's skills when it came to outwitting, or out-rogue-ing the other. "We appreciate the gesture, friend but our work for Athenril is finished…for good."

"For good you say? Aye. That's your right. Then what are you planning to do, Hawke? Go back to Fereldan then? Blight is over after all, you could return if you wished to."

"There's nothing left in Fereldan for us. Lothering along with much of my homeland has been destroyed by the taint. Nothing will grow there for centuries. Kirkwall is now a good a place as any."

Hamish leaned back in his chair, lifting the front legs off the ground with it, "Obviously you haven't spent enough time in Kirkwall if you still think it's a good place. I'm jus' surprised you're still here."

Roen shrugged and idly turned his mug in slow circles on the table, "I'm full of surprises they say. But to what reason do we owe the pleasure of your conversation? You're not here to have a nice chat. Normally your slamming down drinks when you drop by to converse."

The raven haired rogue chuckled, leaning in and in turn having his chair slam into the floor as he bent over the table, "You're brother! Always a weird one, he is." He said to Carver who only continued to meet his look with disdain. "But smart." His icy blue eyes bore into Roen's steely grey ones. "If you're looking to stick around I might have a job for you two. Not me personally but I know a guy. Something much better than a smuggler's job."

"Oh yeah?" Roen questioned.

"Yea, you see there's this dwarf,"

Roen snorted, lifting his drink to his lips to take another gulp, "Sounds like the start of a bad joke."

Carver smacked his brother's arm. He may not like the rogue but he's been nothing but helpful in their acquaintance so far. No reason that should change now. "What about him, Hamish?"

"Words been spreading around about a Deep Roads expedition since the Blight is over. This dwarf is planning on going to th' Darkspawns lair and finding some lost treasure. Now, I figured since you and your like 'ave encountered those foul creatures before that maybe this dwarf fella could use your help. Why not, right? He's gathering his expedition party up in Hightown next to the markets. And you know the thing about these expeditions is they only can happen after a Blight, really. This here's a once and a lifetime opportunity boys. Imagine the riches you could come back with!"

"The Deep Roads?" Just hearing the name disturbed Carver. His brow drew together in disgust, "I think I've had enough Darkspawn to last me a lifetime."

Roen stoically gazed up at Hamish. "Why?"

"Huh?" Questioned the raven haired rogue.

"Why offer this to us? Why not try your hand at the expedition yourself?"

There sparkled mischief within the other man's blue eyes. "Because I don't wanna do it, obviously. Follow those beasties back into their hold? Ha! I think it's one of th' stupidest things a person could do."

"And so you think we should do it?" The young Hawke asked, affronted. "No way in Thedas!" He objected.

Roen sat in contemplation, a hand on his chin as he muttered under his breath. There was an expedition going to the Deep Roads? That place where no light dared to reach? The place where endless wet caverns were stalked by vile creatures cursed by the Maker himself? And where riches beyond imagination lay buried and forgotten to rot away with the taint?

The idea absolutely horrified Roen and made him shiver. But nonetheless…"We'll do it." He mumbled out sosoftly that Hamish and Carver had to stop their bickering to question nhim. He looked up at his compatriot rogue and said with a serious face, "We'll go into the Deep Roads."

"Brother, you can't be serious!" Carver practically abhorred at the idea.

Hamish only smirked slyly yelling over the din to the table of merry smugglers. "Oi, Gantz! Ye owe me twenty silvers."

"Andrastate's tits!" Shouted the other man, Gantz as he slammed his fist heavily upon the table.

Another man nudged him with a yellow grin. "Told ya Hawke would do it. 'E's crazy like that."

Roen went to take another drink of his ale but found it all gone again; nothing but the taste of stale air pouring out. He pouted and put his mug down then returned his gaze to Carver who still looked like he was slapped upside the head by a tome.

"Are you out of your mind? The Deep Roads? Brother, that's-"

"Our ticked out of Lowtown. Don't you see, Carver? This is our chance. We can get mother out of that slum, buy back the estate."

'_Maybe even get redemption.'_ But he didn't say that one aloud. The accusation that his brother held to him may have lessened over the year but it wasn't completely gone yet. It might never fully go away but the least he could do is garner all the forgiveness he could through his action. In this case he would get his family out of poverty. Venture into the Deep Roads and come out a hero to his family. That was a goal worth achieving in spite of the potential danger that lay ahead.

The young man still didn't look convinced though. "We barely escaped Fereldan with those monster on our tail; now you want to follow them into their lair all for money?"

"You say anything in that tone of course it's going to sound bad. Fine, think of it like this then Brother. We can go to the Deep Roads for a couple of weeks, kill some Darkspawn and come out rich men where we then buy back mother's childhood home _or_ we spend the rest of our lives earning small bits of coin while sharing Gamlen's homey little hovel in Lowtown. Hey, Athenril even said we could continue working for her if we wanted. Why don't we become career smugglers then, huh Carver? Maybe get a job here at the Hanged Man cleaning bile and piss off the floors?"

"Alright I get it! Will you stop with the sarcasm? It makes me want to punch you in the face." Huffed the young Hawke defeated.

Hamish laughed at the both of them. "Never a dull moment around ye, Hawke. Good luck on yer trip then. Bring me back a souvenir." He winked then walked back to his original group.

Silence fell between the Hawke brother's one more. Roen sat twirling his empty mug on the table while Carver glared at everything in the room.

"You know I doubt mother will actually let you go to the Deep Roads with me." The rogue said flippantly causing Carver to groan, having his head fall on to the table with a muffled 'thump'.

_****"Hold on to your memories of sundogs and rainbows as time writes a premature eulogy; And I feel summertime passing in haste, like running out of patience"****_

Roen groaned in pain with a hand held to his head. Carver's laughter sounded like thunder in his ears. "Shut up, Carver. Oh my Maker, why is sunlight made of needles?"

More thunderous laughter. "It's times like these that make me glad I do not have your tastes for ale."

"Oh, don't you mean you're glad mother coddles you and so you don't get to even drink enough to get drunk?" He asked in jaded cheeriness before groaning once more at all the shrunken dwarves running around smashing large hammers inside his head. It was due to this painful distraction that he couldn't care that he was being given another 'loving' look by his little brother.

They maneuvered their way through the High town markets in search of the dwarf in charge of the expedition. Roen may have been sporting a massive headache and the conversation from the night was covered in itchy fuzz that made things a rippling pool of memory but he was always conscious of things around him. Hence why he went to Hamish in the morning to press for more details on the man…dwarf they would potentially be working for.

"I think that's him over there." Hawke nodded to a red haired dwarf who was having it out with an exasperated looking human.

"Bartrand was his name?" Roen gave a brief affirmative nod. They watched the argument apprehensively. The dwarf, Bartrand was yelling about funds and navigation and other complaints likely about the expedition. The two brothers shared a knowing look.

"Fine! You know what? You know what?! I quit. Good luck finding your way through the Deep Roads without me! No one can work with a dwarf bastard like you! Greedy, sodding blighter. You know what? I hope the darkspawn get you!" The man he was arguing with stormed away, bumping Carver's shoulder on his way past them, still muttering obscenities under his breath.

Bartrand didn't look any the more happy as he yelled, "What are you looking at?!" to a small group of elves who had been staring. Promptly the dwarf kicked some items from a meek looking dwarf's stall. "Get back to work, all of you! We've got less than 2 months to be ready."

When the dwarf began walking in their direction Roen made sure to fall in step right behind him, "Excuse me, you're Bartrand are you not? The one in charge of the expedition?"

"Yeah, who wants to know?" Asked he grumpily without even looking back.

He could already tell that this man was going to be difficult. "I'm Roen Hawke and this is my brother, Carver. We wish to partake on your journey perhaps body guards to defend the caravans. You see, we hail from Fereldan where-"

"I'm going to stop you right there, Sherlly." Bartrand interrupted. "I have enough people for this trip already. The last thing I need is more brown nosed Fereldans looking to make it big."

"We have experience fighting Darkspawn." Carver self-assuredly supplied.

Bartrand glanced at the two men from the corner of his eyes to see what he was dealing with but it took just a moment to decide he didn't like them. "Yeah and so do half of all the other Fereldans in Kirkwall. Not one of you flea ridden mutts could have made it out of that mud puddle without being in pissing distance of a Darkspawn at least once. Otherwise why flee? Sod off humans. I don't want or need your help." For having such short, stubby legs that dwarf sure sped off real quick.

After following for a couple strides it felt too awkward to stalk the dwarf with what Roen knew would be fruitless and pitiable blubbering pleading.

Roen put his hands on his hips, lowering his head in terse annoyed amusement. "That was actually a longer conversation than I expected."

"Really, Brother?" The question was both sarcastic and curious.

He looked back up and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yup. Considering that little argument he had with that other fellow his patience certainly wasn't high. And look at those around the caravan. They're all moderately well equipped, quite a few of them, some even Fereldan and almost all of them just as desperate as we are for the coin. We're a copper a dozen, Brother."

Behind them, around the area that Bartrand had lingered was a troupe of people. Several caravans were parked around the small area, halfway full of equipment, traveling supplies, all that nonsense. Judging from their clothes, thin wool, worn material, they weren't exactly rich mercenaries. Common folk. Or as common as some desperate refugees can get.

"So what now?" The younger Hawke cast a sideways glance to his brother.

Roen began to walk; the destination in his mind being Lowtown. "We come back tomorrow and bug him until he gives us a job. I don't care if it's surrogating as pack mules, there's treasure in the deep roads that can liberate us from Lowtown's misery." As he thought this images of people in Darktown and the Alienage popped in his mind and he felt guilty for having said it but it wouldn't matter if he took back the words now.

"It's not too late to sign up for the city guard."

Roen stopped, turned towards his brother, put a hand on his shoulder and gave a wry smile that was almost a sad thing, "No one is stopping you, Carver." Then he continued the trek down the stairs to Lowtown without looking back to make sure Carver was following him.

_**** "Mercury dances in its skyscraper cell, rising and falling in harmony; And I feel winter stealing my days, to herald another creation" *****_

"Don't even say it." Roen tersely retorted ruffling his mop of brown hair, eyes following the retreating figure of Bartrand as the dwarf stormed away once more.

"I wasn't going to say anything." Carver said with a smug little smirk.

He glanced at his younger brother with a dully heated glare. "I can hear you thinking it." A sigh escaped him as he turned away to walk. The only destination in his mind this time was anywhere but that one spot in the corner of the Hightown markets of which he had been standing, trying to convince (helplessly plead with) Bartrand to allow if not him and his brother than just him to join the expedition.

Carver was quick on his heel. "What now? It's not like I doubt your abilities as a rogue, Brother but the Templars in this city are-"

"Are very shiny, yes. I've seen their armor. They must spend hours in their barracks polishing the metal spick and span. No wonder mages are caught so easily in this land. They get blinded by the metal and are put in cuffs before they know what's what."

The two brothers shared a look, silent words passing between them that ended with Roen looking away first, "I'll come up with something, Carver. Don't worry." It was his responsibility, his burden to take care of his family. They shouldn't even have landed in Kirkwall in the first place. And Bethany should be there as well. But those things were not true. So he had to work with what he had.

Roen could feel the person creeping up behind him, footsteps a little quicker than necessary and walking with purpose closer to him. So when he felt the young man bump into his shoulder his knee jerk reaction was to grab hold of the wrist of the hand that had not so skillfully tried to slip the small coin purse from his belt.

The young man, barely a boy into his adolescence really with messy red hair, panicked and tried to pull away, run off but Roen maintained a vice grip on his wrist, sizing up his little would be culprit with an observatory eye that scared the wanna-be thief. He smiled charmingly at the boy, "Well I can tell you with much certainty that there isn't a satisfying amount of coin in there. Believe me I've looked."

Vain struggle to get away continued while Carver sighed in the background with a shake of his head meant just for his older brother.

Roen's eyes only glimmered with amusement, "You should be careful who you try to pick pocket, lad. Never know what kind of dangerous folk you're taking from." He slipped a blade out of its sheath causing the young man's eyes to widen in absolute terror. Suddenly he was that much more vehement to get away but it wasn't that easy to escape a Hawke's grip once they got hold of you. He eyed the dagger languidly, a gaze that held respect for the weapon itself as well as a familiarity that one would have for a friend who knew you inside out. "Are you such a desperate soul to steal from a man almost as poor as you? Or did you get the impression of my being a noble from the dirty garbs that I wear? Tell me, what was it that made me a suitable target?"

"P-p-please! Don't kill me!" The boy shut his eyes painfully tight and turned his head away as if that would somehow distance the danger.

"Stop scaring the kid, Roen." Interceded Carver.

Roen glanced at him, "I'm curious though. Do I honestly look rich or something?"

"Or something." Carver mumbled under his breath.

The rogue returned his unyielding grey eyes upon the boy, "Boy, look here," but those eyes remained glued shut, smaller frame tensed, ready for a blow. It caused Roen to huff. In a softer voice he said, "I'm not going to hurt you. Look at me a moment." To prove his point further he sheathed his blade back on its side holder. After a little more prompting he managed to get the young man to warily look up at him. "There you go…My name is Roen Hawke. What's yours?"

He gradually lessened the hold he had on the boy's wrist until it easily fell away.

"C-Caliban, messere. My name is Caliban." Caliban held his wrist close to his chest with skeptical eyes darting around as if he were already running away in his mind a thousand times, being caught, hit or killed about half of that amount in many of the scenarios. He flinched harshly at the heavy hand that fell friendly upon his shoulder.

"That's a good name. Caliban, you best be careful whom you target. Kirkwall is a dangerous place and while Hightown isn't lacking in riches neither is it lacking in guards. Do yourself a favor; try to find a more practical field before someone punches you in the face or worse." Roen used his other hand to clasp the red head's hand, secretly handing him two silvers before giving him one more smile and walking away again.

Caliban looked down at his hand then back up at the retreating man; a mystified expression on his face.

Carver gave his brother a look, "You did it again, didn't you?"

"I've no idea what you speak of dear little brother." Roen grinned cheekily.

From off to the side they heard clapping, "You certainly live up to one half of your reputation. The chivalrous half however is more like the trait of a great hero."

They were met by the image of an odd dwarf. One who against all other dwarven principles had no beard. Though if he did it would be the same golden blonde of his short hair tied back by a tiny ponytail. His nose was certainly that of a dwarf, as was his height but the clothes that he wore held a very charming rogue quality to them what with the opened top showing off chest hair that many a maiden might have swooned over. His clever brown eyes held the promise of something interesting. Then there was the smile easing anxious hearts with charm and a voice clear and calm that hooked you in and didn't let go until the last word was spoken.

Roen's curiosity was piqued. On his back was a crossbow, on his ears gold earrings and in his aura something welcoming. The dwarf sauntered closer to the brothers.

"Who are you?" Asked the younger Hawke so eloquently.

With a pleasant, short gentleman's bow the dwarf introduced himself, "Varric Tethras, at your service."

Roen smiled, he bent his left arm over his stomach, outstretching the other and gave a similar bow in return, "Roen Hawke, so nice to make your acquaintance." He nudged his brother to follow suit but the young man only rolled his eyes. With grin still in place he met the gaze of Varric. "You know of us then?"

"Do I know of you?" It sounded a silly question on his tongue. "Words been going around about you, Hawke. The kind of work you did for a person like Athenril doesn't go unnoticed. Not in this city. Bartrand never did have an eye for potential."

"But certainly you do." Roen responded.

"Indeed. We could use someone like you, Hawke."

Carver unfolded his crossed arms. He tried not to get irritated at the fact that the dwarf was only referring to his brother and not him as well. "But he won't take us on."

"That's because you're applying for the wrong position." Varric replied smartly.

Roen put his hands on his hips, "And what position is it that you propose?"

"Benefactors. You see, Bartrand has been having some trouble funding this expedition. If you come in with 50 sovereigns there's no way he could turn you down. And need I mention the profits? If nothing it would certainly be much more than your lackey's income. What do you say?'

"Reaping the benefits would be all good and well," began Roen, "but if we could come by that kind of money that easily do you honestly believe we'd be venturing into the Deep Roads for some coin?"

"I didn't say it was going to be easy. There are plenty of jobs in the city to raise funds. People always need some odd job done or another. But you have to think of the big picture here, Hawke. Have you ever heard the expression, 'give a man a fish and he will be full for a day but teach a man to fish and he will be full the rest of his life'?"

"And now you're comparing the Deep Roads to fish…"" Roen jested.

Varric smiled thinly, "Not the Deep Roads. Money. You can go around earning money, spend it, save it but you'll always only have so much. Whereas the trip from the Deep Roads can leave you set for life ten times over. But you already have your answer, don't you, Hawke?"

Carver looked questioningly at his brother who grinned knowingly at the dwarf. "Roen?"

"Of course. Thank you for this, Sir Tethras. It appears we have many an odd job ahead of us." He held out his hand expectantly towards the shorter male.

"Indeed. And please, just call me Varric. Sir Tethras is my father." He shook Roen's hand with a firm, sure hand.

Roen tilted his head, "You know you don't really look anything like you're brother."

"Yeah, I take more after our mother."

Carver's expression became even more confused. "You have a brother?"

Roen and Varric looked over at the compatriot that had eluded their minds for a brief time.

"Yes, actually." The blonde dwarf replied, "Bartrand is my dear older brother. Surprising isn't it? You'd never guess by appearances. There could only be one smart brother and one handsome one. Bartrand didn't come out on top in either of those fields."

The younger Hawke's mouth fell open in surprise.

Roen held his chin thoughtfully, "It's been a while since I seen Aveline but, what with her being in the guard for a time now, maybe she has some work we could do…"

"Bartrand is seriously your brother?" Carver asked Varric who shrugged, "You two look nothing alike!"

The dwarf eyed the two Hawke brothers and couldn't help but hold the same opinion.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two: Passion Colors Everything pt. 1

Warnings: Violence, gore, coarse language

A/N: This chapter ended up being split in two. I'm horrible at this. Sorry about the medical aspects of this, I don't possess much knowledge of healing let alone of how wounds were treated in a medieval time setting. So I took some liberties with that, I s'pose. Anders is introduced. Let me know how I do on his character because I feel like I'm sucking big time.

*Story Start*

*** "I dance in tune with what I fear; To do adrenaline; completely rapt with what I hear" ***

Roen found himself missing Fereldan more and more the longer he stayed in Kirkwall. He could deal with the city, the people, the constant pestering of jobs to get coin and make a living. But the one thing he hated the most about the land was the smell. Everywhere he went be it Hightown or the Wounded Coast there was always this smell like rotting stone if stone could rot. He considered that it might be his imagination and in truth the chokedamp breathing out of grates in Lowtown went and got stuck in his nose. Even amongst Hightown the air was stifling. It was like the noble's doused the streets in their fancy Orlesian perfumes. The smell of the ocean, of salt, wrapped around the city, mixing in with the existing pungent smells and making it that much more nauseous.

It was something of an ironic joke that Roen didn't mind how Darktown smelled. Sure the smell of the sewer leaked up from the various passageways leading down further into the depths of the city and the people had their own smell of desperation, poverty and suffering that even those in Lowtown hated. But at least here he knew what he was dealing with. It was as normal as he was going to find in as strange a place as Kirkwall.

He pushed off the wall he was leaning on, uncrossing his arms and cast a glance around the area to make sure no others were walking his way. Namely Carver. But when he saw there wasn't he cautiously made his way over to a young girl sitting far off in a corner by herself. There were hardly any people around this area. It was a forgotten area past a set of moldy unstable stairs. Though he saw many people winding around the stairs further in to the area, he wasn't curious enough to see for himself what would make people gather in Darktown.

She had bruises on her legs; her feet were dirty and blistering. Her black hair was a knotted unkempt mess falling every which way and hiding away her striking blue eyes that were glossed over. Roen kneeled in front of her slowly to try and appear non-threatening but the girl still flinched away harshly. He presented her with a calm smile. "My name is Hawke. What's yours?"

Those beautiful blue eyes eyed him suspiciously, terror swimming within them.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He said softly then reached into his left side pouch and pulled out a quarter loaf of stale bread. "Here." She looked from him to the offering a couple times, suspicion written all over her face. "No? It's not poisoned." He broke off a corner and took a bite, moving to sit cross legged in front of her. "See? You want some?" The girl looked at the bread like she really wanted to take it but wasn't willing to pay the price that came with it. She glared at Roen.

"I used to have a sister. She had eyes like yours and the prettiest smile in Lothering. I bet you have a nice smile. Somewhere in there anyway." He smiled calmly and pulled off another chunk, stuffing the hard bread on to his tongue where he kept it until it became softer to chew. "I'm going to leave this here, okay? If you want it you can have it. If not then the rats would love it I'm sure." Roen put the bread on the ground between them then made to stand up, dusting the dirt from the back of his breeches.

The young girl eyed him more warily as he took cautious steps backwards as if he would scare her away if he moved to fast. She frowned then snatched the bread, scarfing it down with crazy speed. "Whoa, slow down. You don't want to choke."

The girl stopped eating it when there was half left. She stuffed it into her shirt and met Roen's eyes. "My name's Winona. Thank you, serah."

Roen smiled kindly. "That's a beautiful name and you are quite welcome." He noticed Carver in his peripheral walking over. "You be careful, Winona. And take care." She blinked at him and watched as he walked away back to the crowded opening in the far wall, junk and dirt piled around what might be an entrance or what used to be one. There were too many forgotten rooms and passageways scattered in the sewers and in Darktown. Collapsed caverns were as common as the rats that infested them. A fact of life, really.

Carver looked suspiciously from his approaching brother to the young girl pressed against the dank wall who was staring at Roen with mystified eyes. He looked back up and found a calm grin that was seen so permanently plastered to his face. Roen gave a nod in greeting. "Did you get it?"

The young warrior pulled a key from out of his trouser pocket and held it up in front of him. "Yup. Mother wasn't too happy to part with it. She knows what we're up to. I think she's torn from letting us continue and chaining us down to our bed posts."

"That's mother for you." 'Resigned woman.' He added in his private thoughts. Roen pinched the key out of Carver's hand and glanced at the pile up. "Are you ready?" A cursory glance swept over the younger Hawke's apparel to check there was the broadsword still strapped to his back. He noticed his brother's nose pinched in disgust, breaths coming out heavier from his mouth as he tried not to pay mind to the awful smell infesting Darktown. It almost amused him.

"I still think this is a stupid idea."

"Getting the will back to prove our Uncle is a liar? Or infiltrating a slaver's den? Or you coming along to help? Because really, if you're going to keep complaining I might as well sneak in and steal the will on my own. It would save us a lot of useless fighting-"

"No, none of that. I mean, shouldn't we have asked that dwarf, Varric to come along? Aveline! We could have asked Aveline to come with us."

"Aveline is on active duty right now and I'd rather her be working the Guard finding us some extra work worth doing then taking part in illegal activities that technically involve breaking and entering. Not to mention we only met Varric a couple days ago. I don't feel comfortable asking him such a boon. He's not obligated to face enemies for us. And this is our business, not his."

Carver snorted and it reminded him of the way that Gamlen does. "This is hardly our own business. This isn't our home. It's not even mother's anymore. I don't see why we're going through all the trouble."

Roen let out a soft huff and put his hands on his hips. This argument happened once already. Any more after that one time made it a useless conversation. "If you don't want to follow me into the basement of slaver's den just say so. I can go alone. It wouldn't be the first time I had to cross another faction of this city without back up."

After a long stretching silence of uncertainty Carver gave an aggravated grunt and crossed his arms. "I'm not going to let you be an idiot and go off on your own."

Roen smiled. "How kind of you dear little brother. Come on; help me move some of this junk." Carver looked back at the girl who was nibbling on some bread and watching them curiously. "Lend a hand, would you? Stop idling, we need to get in and out as quick as possible." The young warrior glared at the pile of debris disdainfully but went to help make way for them to reach the rusted ladder hidden behind layers of mottled wood and mud ball rocks that they considered just that without entertaining any possibility of other…substances.

"I have a bad feeling about this brother. We should just leave it be."

"And miss the chance to slay slavers? Never."

"I'm serious, Roen."

"As am I Brother." His tone became a bit more somber. "Just be on your guard. We get the will and we get out. No heroics. Got it?"

Carver tried not to let embarrassment creep onto his cheeks in a red hue as he was pinned by his brother's steely grey eyes. "When have I ever?" He shot back flippantly. Roen only leveled him a knowing look that made him feel uncomfortable. "What?" He asked indignantly and received a short chuckle before all attention went back to clearing a portion of the rubble.

"That should do it." Roen clapped his hands together to dust them off, giving their resulting excavation a look of appraisal. They had really only shifted everything all the way to the right side but they met their goal of opening just enough room for passage. "Good thing there wasn't a collapse, aye Brother? I find it alarmingly odd though that the current occupants have this area closed off considering all of its usefulness connecting to a field in which they can conduct their operations. Funny thing that. This area looks like it hasn't been touched in a long time. Why is that?"

"Don't ask me. Let's just get this over with."

Roen narrowed his eyes and glanced around the area with a studious gaze, humming in consideration before taking hold of the corroded rustic ladder and tempting fate by climbing up. He found his heart thudding heavy in his chest as it creaked under his weight and gained a better opinion of why it was so unused. He cautiously slipped the key into the lock of the trapdoor and had to jostle it a few times, working the outdated contraption and eventually managed to get it open. With a grunt he pushed his upper body weight into the rotting but heavy wood.

It hurt his shoulder and only moved an inch or so up. He tried slamming his body into it a couple more times, bruising his shoulder in the process but it hardly budged. Roen looked down, his brother staring up the dark shaft with an impatient look. "It won't open. There's something on top of it."

"Are you sure you're not just out of practice Brother? Not getting winded are you?"

"An attack on my pride ser." He said in a joking manner as he clambered down the rickety rungs. His feet hit the ground in a miniature cloud of dust clouding around his shoes and disappearing in an instant. With a dramatically fake affronted look he clapped Carver on his shoulder and stepped out of the way of the ladder. "For that I fear we should have to duel to the death but for now be a sport and use your charming brute force to bust that door would you?"

"You couldn't duel worth a copper, Roen. Dueling requires a sense of honor." The young warrior grimaced at the way the slimy, crusty metal ridges felt on his skin but continued up the stairs nonetheless.

"Honor? Oh so that's what it is. I thought it required a sense of humor. I have that in spades. No wonder you win those battles of self-righteous vindication all the time."

Carver bent his head down, one hand tightly holding on to the ladder while he held the other closely bent to his chest and threw his weight at the door. "Funny." He grunted, the door lifting a good four inches this time. On his third try he almost lost his balance in shock of all the pressure from atop the door being thrown off, a loud thudding noise indicating whatever was atop had fallen away. He took a deep breath and looked up at the darkness of the room. Then he grinned victoriously down at Roen. "And that is how you do it, Brother." He finished the climb into the room and heaved a breath of relief when he was properly grounded on the floor of the basement.

"And that is why I keep you, little Brother."

"What are you on about?"

Roen set himself standing up and took his own relieving intake of breath before giving him a brotherly poke in the forehead. "You're the bronze to my brains." He grinned then made to take in their surroundings.

"Hey!" Carver snapped after anger won over in the war of confusion to take his words as insult or compliment.

Roen shushed him and bent a knee next to the huge chest spilled over on its side that had apparently been concealing the exit. Leaking out of the cracked leather trunk was an assortment of fine dresses that were out of style now but likely would have been the fashion highlight of their era.

Thoughts flitted around in his mind. 'These might have been Mother's. I should take a few back to her after this is over.' He got back to his feet and pulled the moth eaten bleach purple cloth pooled under the chest free and shut the trap door, proceeding to conceal it from sight under the sickly looking rug.

That solved that mystery he figured, yet found uneasiness roiling around his gut. He had a bad feeling about this as well but didn't voice as much to Carver who still looked ill at ease as it was. Or it could have just been his frozen scrunch of unending annoyance.

"Keep quiet. We need as much advantage as we can manage."

Carver rolled his eyes. "These slavers would have to be deaf idiots not to hear the ruckus we just made getting in here."

"If they heard us they would have come running to check. But they didn't. So let's go." He pulled his thin light sword from off his back then unsheathed the medium dagger from its side sheath. Carver followed suit and armed himself with his broadsword.

"I hate you right now."

"And you love me the rest of the time? I'm touched. Here I thought you hated me 90 percent of the time." He smirked at Carver's huff then let his senses focus completely on his surroundings. Up ahead in a room down the hall he could sense some people. He informed Carver silently with a look and mild hand gestures that the other was able to understand after a year of smuggling operations together. They pressed themselves against the cold stone walls and waited for the opportune moment to confront their first group of slavers likely out of a large group of many that probably favored a monogamous cellar over a grand foyer.

*** "I'll be the super absorbent-man, watch them flock to me in single file….Swallow the sun, run another mile, it's overrated how we underrate." ***

Anders ran his hands through his hair, fingers sliding easily through the grease and sweat from days' worth of work with no bathing and pulled the top half back into a short ponytail tied with a small piece of leather. Afterwards he rinsed his hands in a bucket. He cupped some into his hands and splashed the water on his face, slightly scrubbing the exhaustion and grime caked on there with a sense of relief from the cool liquid.

It was stuffy and dank in the clinic. As much as he tried to keep everything as sanitary as possible for the sake of his patient there was only so much that could be done in Darktown. The floors were always swept (a fruitless endeavor considering 80 percent of the ground was hard dirt but it gave the drab room even the slightest better appearance and sense of fulfillment so he did it) and he made sure they never kept the dead around long. After all, infection caused more death than any actual injuries. So it was mandatory for a place of healing to be clean.

That is, as clean as one could get a room in Darktown to be.

With an exhausted sigh he picked up a cheap bottle of brandy, a cloth and another bowl of untouched water. He returned to a young man, a boy of fifteen who worked the quarry and who already had the hard calloused hands and heavy shoulders found on every foundry worker. "I'm going to clean your wound out now; it's going to sting but not too much."

The boy wore a hard look. "Just get it over with."

Anders knew a bluff when he saw one. The tough act was a front he used, a defense to make sure he wasn't seen as weak. He took the brandy bottle and unceremoniously poured it over the gash on his leg. The young man hissed loudly through his teeth and bit the inside of his hand to stop from screaming.

"Fuck."

He passed a consoling smile to the boy. "See that wasn't too bad, was it?" Anders put the bottle down and used a conservative amount of magic to close the gash. It would have required stitches but he had ran out of wire earlier in the day and therefore had to rely upon his Maker given gifts even though he would have preferred to save them for life or death cases; especially with the amount of clients still waiting in suffering to be aided. So while it would have been easy to erase the wound, scar and all he couldn't afford using his mana so generously. Refugees poured into his clinic in overwhelming numbers. His powers needed to be used wisely and efficiently.

The exhaustion he felt the first couple days when he opened the clinic was unimaginable. Until that time he never realized how tired a person could become.

Once there was nothing but an ugly red line running up the boy's leg he took the rag, wet it and wiped it down to clear off any remaining dirt or alcohol. "How does your leg feel?"

The boy gently hopped off the wooden pallet and tested his weight on it. "Burns but nothing compared to bein' a crip. You saved my life, healer. Thank you." Anders tensed as his hand was taken in a grateful vice grip between the calloused strong hands of the young quarry worker. "I don't make much money but if yu ever need anythin', please tell me. I can't repay you enough."

"Don't worry about it. You can repay me by being more careful with that pick axe when you work. Alright? It's dangerous work you do and you should consider yourself lucky that you didn't hit the bone." His brow drew together in unhappy concern. It was a sad thing that someone so young had to work a job as taxing and hard as mining. Worst still he saw children much younger working the foundries that weren't so lucky in their injuries.

"I will." He nodded. "Thank you."

He watched Brandon (they had been introduced at an earlier time when he brought in his young brother who was sick with the fever) walk away with a slight limp to keep the pressure off the freshly sore leg. His figure retreated past the door and he noticed a young girl,

She was a straggler, with no parents as far as he could tell. The girl often kept to herself, Winona was her name, and here she came running into the clinic. His eyes fell on her as she came panting to a stop in front of him with a look of terror on her face.

"Help him, healer." She said in a tiny voice.

His brow furrowed, "Help wh-"

A young man came barreling in through one of the doors of his clinic with another man weighing down on his shoulder. Blood was splattered on their faces and clothes as if they had been in a massacre. The injured man was pallid, a hand pressed to his side where blood spilled over his fingers. His brown hair was damp with sweat and fell over his eyes. It looked as though he would have long since collapsed if he were not being held up.

On the younger man's face was a twisted look of worry. They clambered in awkwardly towards Anders. "Please," pleaded the man, "my brother is hurt. He was stabbed."

Anders considered their appearance for but a moment. It was likely the boys were from a gang considering the armor and equipment they wore. Coterie. Normally the gangs hated him and the little charity business he ran. Something about these two though didn't exactly scream street thug. Their occupation be damned he never turned away a patient in need. And anyone who got Winona to talk let alone be so…respondent deserved some attention.

"Let's get him on a pallet." The healer went to his other side and took half the weight of the heavy limp man and together they put him on the raised wooden plank as carefully as possible. Groans of pain still spilled from the injured man in response though.

Anders pulled the hand away from the wound with little resistance. Beneath his hands the man was weakening. The dark brown light leather armor was stained and sticky. He also noticed scorch marks on the chest, chaffed burnt cow hide as if he were shot with a bolt of lightning. Deft fingers worked their way around the materiel, unclipping side buckles and getting the shirt off to do his job properly.

Another groan was elicited as chilled air hit the wound. "C-Carv-"

"Shut up, brother." Bit out the young man though no real venom was in the words. "You're an idiot and if you die Mom will kill you."

A weak smile twisted on his face, blood streaking out the side of his mouth. "L-love you too…"

"Don't talk." Anders chastised his patient. On his lower abdomen was where the wound was. A smear of red leaking from his side. It was an ugly gash, split flesh showing off the inner lining of his muscle. His magic and eyes examined the wound simultaneously. Carver looked uneasy at the sight of magic but the boy didn't open his mouth. "Looks like the blade punctured your stomach. The…stomach acid is affecting his other organs. I need to patch it up and heal the damage."

"Oh…so that's why that hurts." Roen said in a slow wheezy, pained voice.

Both Anders and Carver gave him a reproachful look. A turquois orb of magic flared to light in his hands as he pressed them lightly over the opening in flesh and let the magic take its course, stitching together flesh, repairing cells. The damage was extensive and he likely would have died within an hour, a slow and painful death if they hadn't come.

"Is he going to be okay?" Anders had almost forgotten about Winona but she was bouncing on her heels right next to the pallet with a look of worry.

Anders felt his hands shake with exertion from using his magic. "I need to finish healing his internal organs. The stomach acid really took a toll on some of them. You should consider yourself lucky nothing vital was hit." He dipped into his reserves of mana, pulling on the power and pushing it into the body under his hands. As he controlled the tendrils of amorphous healing magic to repair the degradation of internal organs, working around damaged tissue something shot out at Anders, surprising him to the point where he almost lost his concentration. It was a hot feeling lashing out at his magic but it quickly receded where he could no longer sense the feeling of burning power.

When he was finished and his magic gave out so did his legs, knees buckling under him but he caught himself on the rim of the wooden plank.

"That felt weird," Roen said as he put a hand over the flesh where a fresh pink scar marked his side. "Hmm, I think I'm going to-" without warning he turned quickly on his side, throwing up on the dirt floor but thankfully it wasn't the side Anders was on. Carver did wince and take a step back though. The newly healed man heaved and retched a few minutes then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Ugh."

Carver punched him in the arm. "Idiot." He clenched his fist so tight the knuckles paled. His face was scrunched up in angry relief. "I told you not to charge him! You should be glad he didn't blow your face off with a fireball."

Roen spit on the ground and weakly waved his hand. "He ruined my only good set of armor. It was incorrigible. Besides, how was I supposed to know he had a blade?" Ignoring the rest of his brother's argument he turned to Anders.

He was shaking lightly, still holding himself up against the raised platform. It was a long day of healing. Exhaustion was catching up with him especially after that stint saving this strange man's life. He found a sure hand falling on his shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Anders snorted, "Asks the man who's life I just saved." He took a deep breath and looked up into the cool silver eyes that shimmered like liquid mercury. The color was slowly returning to his face and despite the trying experiencing of having almost died the man looked rather alive, as if he came out with a scratch and nothing more.

A sweet little grin split on his face. "Yes. Thank you for that." His eyes glittered with gratitude, a look that the healer of Darktown was used to seeing by now. Roen's gaze fell on the little girl who was still waiting anxiously off to the side. "I owe you my life." He grinned down at her and heat spread to her cheeks.

She pushed out her lower lip and toed the dirt with her bare feet, looking a bit sheepish. "We'll call it even eh Hawke."

He chuckled, a sound that was very nice. "What then, my life is worth a loaf of bread?" Winona was still staring at the ground but a huge grin broke out on her face in tacit laughter. Anders found himself thrown aback by it. As long as he had known the girl she was quiet, reserved and never gave anyone anything. Those pale metal eyes returned to Anders. "You saved my life. I'm in your debt." He bowed his head slightly and the healer was still scatter brained by how different this guy seemed compared to other denizens of this city.

By the accent, Roen was Fereldan. Another refugee then? Though he seemed to hold himself with this self-assuredness and calm that no other man who ran from the Blight would wear. "No need for any of that. Just glad to help." He presented a terse smile. His head still swam. And he reflected on the burst of power that had lashed out at him during the healing. Brow drawn down, gaze full of wary curiosity he eyed the guy, a man dressed as a rouge and precariously stated slash asked, "You're a mage."

Something scared; dark and threatening flickered in his eyes but only for a second. Then it was a chilled nonchalant gaze void of emotion. "And you're mistaken." He smiled easily.

Anders opened his mouth to press, perhaps to ease the tension in mentioning it hardly mattered that he was considering Anders was himself one as well. But the young brother, Carver was his name, piped in.

"We should go. Mother will be worried." There was a note of protective alarm in his voice, Anders noted. "You have our gratitude…healer." He added with a slightly uncomfortable bitter edge.

"Go on ahead Carver. I need a moment to recompose myself."

The warrior's gaze flitted from his shirtless brother to Anders then he gave a brief nod. "Don't die on your way back to the house."

"Same to you." Roen said airily. He watched his brother retreat then looked back at Anders. "So you're the healer of Darktown I've heard so much about." He hopped off the plank with a pained huff, grunting and pushing a hand instinctively to his side as if it would alleviate the pain. For a moment he swayed on his feet, looking as though he would fall but he swallowed thickly and slowly regained his composure.

"…You've heard about me?"

Roen picked up his shirt and gave a resigned sigh when he looked at it. "Ruined." He mumbled then threw it on anyway. "Word spreads in this city. Especially about mysterious apostates hiding in Darktown." His calm inspecting gaze fell on Anders, as if taking in every inch of his appearance. It made him feel a tad embarrassed and self-conscious. "A face to all the rumors I've heard. I try never to make assumptions but…you're not quite what I was expecting. Ah, my bad. My name is Hawke. And yours?" He held out his hand and Anders stared at it, calloused fingers from someone who has worked every day of their life. Small scars from practice with a blade.

Everything about this man screamed charming rogue but he knew what he felt; knew the feel of magic brushing against his own power. This man was a mystery wrapped in an enigma and Anders wasn't sure he liked the feeling he gave off. The air around him was just so…appeasing, calm. He just seemed so…naturally endearing which that itself felt so completely unnatural.

Anders met his grip, confused by the mild strength that squeezed his hand. From appearance he assumed the grip would be stronger, from the state of his condition he assumed it would be weaker but there was this odd middle ground. Just enough strength to be grounding. He tried to feel for more of the hidden magic just to be sure of himself but felt nothing, not even a flicker or sample.

"Anders." He said evenly.

A sly grin came to the rogue mage's face. "You're parents have an odd sense of humor. Or is the alias your idea?"

Anders heart skipped a beat. "I don't know. Is Hawke your real name?"

"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours." He said with a charming smile. The healer pursed his lips and remained silent. Hawke did what Anders wanted him to do and dropped the subject. Though there passed this odd knowing look on his face that irritated him. Hawke glanced around the clinic with that same acute gaze. "I guess I should get back. I'm sorry I don't really have any coin to offer you."

Anders was already shaking his head. "If I wanted to make coin I'm going about it the wrong way."

"Ha. Point taken. Look, if you ever need a favor I've got quite the reputation for solving people's problems. Of course, I don't do anything involving animals or children."

That one almost made Anders laugh. Almost. But his heart did jump into his throat as he thought about Karl and how helpful it would be to have someone else along. But he didn't know this man, Hawke. And all the mystery surrounding him was a sure enough sign of bad news. He couldn't put that kind of trust into someone (no matter how intimate saving a person's life is). Who's to say he would sympathize with the mage cause? Whether this man was a mage or not it could be that he could still turn him over to the Templars, rat him out; gratitude or no the Templar presence in this city was a chokehold causing people to claw desperately.

"I'll keep that in mind…You fought a mage didn't you? That's where you got that?" He pointed to the charred mark on his chest, black veins spread on the ruined leather.

Hawke glanced down at it distastefully. "Indeed. Slavers. Nasty business. He shot me with a bolt of lightning, sent me flying and knocked the wind out of me." He winced. "I got back up and charged him, trying to take him out before he could fire off a storm of bolts but when I got close enough he took me by surprise and got me in the stomach. Managed to take him down while on an adrenaline high. Didn't realize I was bleeding until after all those pieces of shit were down."

"You fought slavers? That would explain it. You have to be careful down here. Lots of people go missing in Darktown."

"Oh, I know. Ah, as it were, thank you again. Drop my name at the Hanged Man if you ever have need of me. I'll get the message. Or, you know, use a series of smoke signals and bird calls to summon me."

At that Anders couldn't help laughing. "You are a strange man."

"Says the apostate running a free clinic in Darktown." Hawke shrugged his shoulders and gave a civil nod. "Farewell, Anders."

"No more charging slaver mages, Hawke. It's bad for your health."

"No promises." The mysterious rogue slash possible mage left his clinic, Winona trying to trail behind him secretly like a lost puppy. Anders considered the man. Something told him they would meet again. He just didn't realize how soon that would be.


End file.
